It's Not Right
by 4getTHEfear
Summary: Sam doesn't have a soul, and could care less about whether or not his hair is cut. While Dean, at first, wants to cut Sam's hair, he can't quite follow through with it.


_**Author's Note: Hey everyone! This is just a one-shot written for a prompt over on lj. I must say, I really had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you guys like it.**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Sam and Dean Winchester. I really wish I could keep Dean though...**_

* * *

"Find a job yet?" Dean asked from the chair he was currently lounging in. It was one of the more comfortable pieces of furniture the dingy motel had to offer. He smirked, knowing the question would only aggravate his brother, seeing as he had already asked the same question five times in the last hour.

"Workin' on it," Sam responded through his teeth, trying his hardest to seem unperturbed. Truthfully, his eyes had failed to register anything currently displayed on the bright screen of his laptop for the past fifteen minutes. He'd been thinking about other things, such as his exhausting and ongoing mission to act like he still truly was the Sam Winchester that Dean had known his whole life. It was incredibly difficult to keep the older Winchester under the impression that absolutely nothing was wrong with him. Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes forcefully, trying to stay focused on his task.

Dean noticed the movement, and softened slightly. "Want me to take a look?" he offered, obviously thinking that his brother had to be tired.

_That, of course, isn't true_. Sam thought to himself. He no longer required sleep. Just one more example of how he had improved since returning from Hell.

"No, that's all right," Sam answered.

Dean shrugged, leaning farther back into his chair. "Suit yourself." He was about to close his eyes when he noticed his brother brush his hair out of his eyes again. "Dude."

Sam looked up. "What?"

"Will you please let me cut that friggin' mop on your head? I mean come on, you can't tell me it doesn't bother you."

"Well it's not _that_ annoying, but if it really bothers _you_ so much, feel free to get some scissors."

"…what?" Dean was appalled. All those times Sam and him had argued about this, and _now_ he was giving in? Dean had barely even gotten started this time. He sat up straighter. "Wait," he said, holding up a hand, "are you serious?"

"Yeah, sure." Sam didn't really care that much. Old Sam would've much rather taken a bullet than cut his hair, but he wasn't the old Sam. He was a new and improved Sam, who didn't care what his hair looked like. It wasn't until he really looked at Dean's face that he realized this might come across as really out of character for him in Dean's eyes. He decided to let it go. Dean couldn't make any grand assumptions just because he was willing to cut his hair. Dean was smiling now.

"Come on Sammy. Really? You're gonna let me cut your hair _now_?"

"Look Dean, cut it, don't cut it, I don't care. But if you don't, then you better stop complaining about it." Finished with the conversation, Sam turned his attention back to the laptop.

Dean didn't get it. Since when was it not a big deal for Sammy to cut his hair? Was he feeling okay? _Probably just tired._ Dean tried to assure himself. But looking at his younger brother, Dean was more and more convinced that he was serious about this. _What the hell?_ "Why the sudden change of heart?" he asked.

Sam looked up again and sighed. "It just doesn't seem to matter to me as much anymore," he replied. "There's more important stuff to worry about."

Dean nodded slowly, still not quite understanding.

"So, you gonna cut it, or what?" Sam asked impatiently, failing to grasp why Dean was being so hesitant.

At first, Dean wanted to. He really was going to do it. But something about his sudden victory in an argument that had been going on for such a long time really bothered him. It was just one of those things that wasn't ever really supposed to end. They were just _supposed_ to always argue about Sammy's hair. Just like they were _supposed_ to argue about what music was playing during a trip in the Impala or like how Sam was _supposed_ to call Dean a jerk when Dean called him a bitch. It was just wrong for Sam to suddenly give in like that.

"No," Dean finally answered. "Not worth the effort."

Sam laughed at that. "Lazy…" he muttered.

"Shut up!" Dean retorted at once. He decided to forget about what had just transpired between him and Sam. They were both tired, and uncharacteristic behavior could sometimes be a result of that. He closed his eyes, trying to banish the troubling doubts about his brother from his mind.

* * *

Sam was smiling at Dean. He'd had that stupid grin on his face all day.

"Mind tellin' me what you're so freakin' happy about?" Dean finally asked, after taking a bite out of his burger. They were sitting across from one another in an old diner.

Sam looked as if he was about to answer, but then he stopped and just laughed. Dean put down his burger and glared at his brother. Sam sighed, still smiling, and said: "I remembered something."

"From what? Your time without a soul?"

Sam nodded.

"You actually remember something _good_ from that hell?" Dean asked incredulously.

"You wouldn't cut my hair," Sam said simply, the smile on his face getting wider every second.

"Oh."

Sam couldn't contain himself any longer. "Admit it Dean! You totally like my hair! All those years of crap, and you _like it_!"

"What? No I don't. Shut up and eat your salad Sammy."

Dean would always deny it. Until the day he died. But as he picked his burger back up, the smile on his face was twice the size of his brother's. _Nice to have ya back Sammy._

* * *

**_Well? Please tell me what you thought of it!_**


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